


Seventeen Minutes Past Midnight

by Perzik



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Masturbation, Moicy, Moira's perspective, Obsessive Behavior, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perzik/pseuds/Perzik
Summary: After a flirtatious encounter with Angela Ziegler, Moira spends the evening reflecting, drinking and searching for solutions.





	Seventeen Minutes Past Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a whole bunch to Meislovely, who kindly read this over and helped me edit <3
> 
> As an aside, I listened to 'Dancing in circles' by Lady Gaga a lot while I wrote this.

_Ziegler._

Moira turned the name over in her mind.

_Angela Ziegler._

She thought of her again. She thought of her again and again as she fumbled for the keys to her apartment and thought of her still as she pressed the door shut on the other side. In one sharp movement, Moira removed her lab coat and slung it over the back of her armchair as she passed it by. It was unlike her to be quite so untidy, but she couldn’t care less about the mess. Not now with her head spinning. She was losing control.

_This won’t do._

Long strides made short work of the walk to the cabinet near the window: Where she kept the good whiskey. She searched for a glass and set it down hard and a measure was poured, gone, and poured over again before her hands met the table and she stared out into the city. A barrage of artificial lights, it never truly slept. Lately, she could empathise.

With a single deep breath, Moira closed her eyes.

_Gan mhaith._

She pinched the bridge of her nose to help relieve the pressure building in her head. Despite it being well over an hour since Angela had bid her goodnight, she was having great trouble removing her from her thoughts. It was becoming a problem.

As a scientist, Moira was more than confident in her ability to solve problems. In point of fact, ordinarily, she would have luxuriated in the face of a fresh challenge had it been anything other than this. This problem, that was the dreadful feeling of being aware of her own heart beating solidly in her chest. This feeling, that stole her breath and flushed her pale skin whenever Angela was a touch too close.

She had told herself having said feeling once was nothing more than coincidence. Twice, and she had convinced herself she was falling ill. The many times since, Moira had pushed it all to the dark recesses of her mind, not willing to admit that there could be any discernible correlation between this feeling and Angela _bloody_ Ziegler. As a woman of science, though, Moira could not deny her symptoms. She was no fool.

With her drink in hand, Moira reflected on the matter. While she had always acknowledged Angela’s intelligence without difficulty, she found her moral uprightness a much harder pill to swallow. Still, her beauty was something Moira was sure no one could deny.

She drained her glass again and began to pace, the whiskey warming her throat pleasantly. It was smooth, yet slightly bitter. Pouring another as she contemplated such a thing, Moira realised that in direct contrast to it, Angela left her with a sickly sweet taste. A cheerful righteousness, if you will, that Moira had been sure she was none too fond of.

_Had been._

Still, Angela’s research was revolutionary – an irrefutable fact that Moira could respect, even if that respect was granted along with criticism over her reluctance to push boundaries like she would do herself. But why then, even with all of this, was Angela such a plague to her mind?

If asked, most would say that the two had a strained yet professional relationship. Moira often stated her contempt for the woman to anyone with a listening ear including the woman herself, much to Angela’s chagrin. Sharing the same laboratory space meant there were plenty of opportunities for Moira to pepper their discussions with snide remarks and judgment. Moreover, she relished doing so.

In a somewhat childish bid to hide her burgeoning feelings, Moira teased Angela at every given opportunity. She pushed buttons and boundaries. Moira would thumb through Angela’s notes, uninvited, and mix a derisive tut with a hint of a smile. During Overwatch’s plentiful board meetings, Moira would sit adjacent, or across from Angela so that their legs would touch and she could feign repugnance only to repeat the movement as the meeting droned on. Tucked safely away in her memories were the occasions in which this had broken Angela’s concentration, causing her to stammer mid-sentence and blush.

Oh, she truly was _adorable_.

Though she loathed admitting, it was easy for Moira to pinpoint the epicentre from which her downward spiral had begun. Angela pushed back. There were moments in which the blonde had let a sultry gaze linger and brushed against Moira oh so deliberately in the hallway when there had clearly been ample space. Without a doubt, she tested the waters of flirtation, first with a toe and more recently, with both feet. It stirred something up inside of Moira that she had come to crave like a drug.

Over time the two of them had become polarised, yet drawn to one another so much so that each time Moira teased, Angela responded in ways easily recognised in a schoolyard. Her faux disdain and losses of temper at times came married to a smile she failed to hide. Moira took pleasure in being the cause of Angela’s vexations, as much pleasure as she was becoming sure Angela took, too.

And with that small detail, Moira mulled over something new. Their interactions this evening had provided a real feeling of change, of something Moira had not considered. She leaned against the back of her armchair and rubbed her eyes frustratedly, posing a question to herself. What had been so different about the evening? Angela’s presence had never caused quite so much of a stir. Her own feelings of attraction had become an exponential force, this much was true, but it had never struck her that Angela would reciprocate to any real degree. The evidence of such a thing had however been mounting.

No longer blind to it, Moira replayed the events of the evening over again in her mind and stared at her reflection in the spotless window pane. She loosened her tie as she pushed a familiar feeling down, blood rushing to her cheeks. She knocked her drink back quickly.

 

-

 

Moira had planned on working late that evening. When the other staff succumbed to their tiredness and finally headed home, she came alive in the silence they left behind, eager to bury her head in her research. She thought she might spend all night doing so if she made decent progress. With the occasional shuffle of her lab rabbits in the corner and an array of colourful solutions bubbling before her on the desk, she sat with intense focus, confident she was on the brink of something grand.

When Dr. Ziegler stopped by her door to wish her a good night, Moira had barely looked up, acknowledging her colleague with a dismissive wave. Most nights, this would have sufficed and the blonde would retire for the evening, kitten heels clicking into the distance.

This had not been ‘most nights’. Rather than be dismissed so easily, Angela had lingered at the door with an expression on her face that Moira knew well, as it was so often her own. Such a devilish smile on an angelic face was more than enough to lure Moira’s attention. There was something mischievous about the way she leaned against the doorframe and looked around as if checking they were alone. Something bold about the glint in her deep blue eyes. It electrified the space between them as she glided over and perched delicately on the edge of Moira’s desk.

“You’re putting in a lot of overtime lately Dr. O’Deorain,” Angela said coyly. Her cheeks flushed pink with the sudden attention as Moira looked her over, examining her closely. She seemed to struggle to keep a hold on her composure as she leaned forward, Moira drinking her in hungrily, ignoring Angela’s hand gesturing toward her work. Her gaze was held strong; spellbound, enchanted.

“Need a second opinion?”

Were Moira not so well-practiced at this sort of game, she would have faltered from the look alone. She feigned disinterest and looked back to her practical work, frowning at a flask that threatened to boil over.

“No.” She stated coldly, reaching for the Bunsen burner to reduce the flame. Angela leaned over and adjusted the flame first, brushing Moira’s gloved hand with her own bare one before withdrawing it with deliberate leisure.

“You’re welcome.” She hummed sweetly. She swept a few pages from the worktop up into her hands and looked them over, clearly having no intention to leave. Moira observed the blonde and flexed her hand gently, missing the light touch even though it had barely been there. She cleared her throat and readjusted her gloves, collecting herself.

“Do you require something of me, Dr. Ziegler?” Moira sighed, “or, are you finished?”

Angela smirked and Moira’s heartbeat quickened. Angela’s conduct was unexpected and therefore, difficult to predict. Though Moira wouldn’t care to admit it, she felt susceptible to this new and charming behaviour and desperately wanted to regain the upper hand.

Angela set the pages down neatly. She stretched her back which accentuated not only the curve of her breasts but also the tantalizing amount her skirt had ridden up her thighs and with it, Moira felt the upper hand slip further from her grasp.

“I noticed you were still working and came to offer a hand, that’s all. If you don’t need anything though, shall I see myself out?”

She had noticed where Moira’s gaze had settled and pulled on the hem of her skirt idly, not achieving a great deal aside from drawing the attention away from her thighs and up to the smirk on her face. Moira looked away, down at her notes, all too aware she had let herself look too long at Angela’s shapely legs. They had been presented to her as such a temptation, too. Angela was usually so easily flustered but with the tables turned it was Moira who had felt the prickle of a blush creeping from her neck onto her cheeks. She had known it would reveal a telling collection of freckles, and with no way to hide it, she shifted tensely in her chair and cleared her throat agreeably.

Angela slid herself off of the desk and made to leave. Moira relaxed to some extent and took to stirring the solutions in front of her despite the fact they were long since ruined. The feeling of unease returned though, as her colleague stepped behind her and her blush only worsened as two delicate hands came to rest on her shoulders.

“Ange-“

“Let me just fix something for you before I go.” Came Angela’s whisper, silencing Moira immediately, soft lips suddenly all but a hair’s breadth from Moira’s ear.

“What are you on about?” Moira hesitated, looking at her equipment for a problem, her mind hazing. She felt Angela’s hands brush over her shoulders and trace around, taking a hold of her tie, which hung a little more loosely than usual. Moira felt betrayed by her own lungs as she heard herself breathe shakily in anticipation.

Angela had leaned in so close that their cheeks touched. She tightened the knot of Moira’s tie smartly. Moira caught the subtle scent of her perfume, refreshing and sweet, which made her head swim dreadfully and she lost her concentration just as quickly as her heart raced. Despite Angela’s outward confidence, Moira felt her heart beat too, strongly on her back as she pressed her breasts against her with barefaced intent.

Angela hummed approval into the redhead’s ear and trailed her hands back the way they had come, letting them stay for a moment at the base of Moira’s neck, slim fingers teasing into red hair and stroking her neatly shaved hairline, winning her a slight shiver.

Before Moira had time to respond, or to even think of a response at all, Angela had made her way back to the door. She paused to look back, clearly pleased to have rendered Moira speechless, for once.

“You should take better care of yourself, Dr. O’Deorain. Don’t stay up too late.”

Her come-hither smile had returned but her cheeks flushed pink, self-conscious at the effort it had taken to tease Moira this way for as long without faltering.

“Doctor’s orders.”

\- 

So, there it was. On this otherwise uneventful evening, Angela Ziegler had played Moira at her own game and performed surprisingly well. Without a doubt, Moira found herself overwhelmingly attracted. Even more so now than before, and before had certainly been troubling enough. She felt restless, and lustful, and she would be a liar if she said this was the only night her train of thought had carried the two of them down _this_ road.

It being in her nature to take action, Moira wondered; if Angela had played the first move, what and when should be her retaliation? She recalled how caught off guard she had felt in the lab and vowed it be the only time she would allow Angela the luxury. She would need to collect herself well for their next interaction. A while of pondering passed with her notions leading to nowhere until a thought struck her like lightning. There was a conference coming up that they would both be expected to attend and potentially rub shoulders. Perhaps it would be the ideal place to corner the good doctor?

Abruptly, Moira started to look around for her notebook, eyes bright and full of mischief. She swayed a little as she moved, and supported herself against the armchair, trying to recall how much she’d had to drink. She shook her head, dismissing such unimportant information, for at precisely seventeen minutes past midnight, a plan was born. While she absolutely had not done as she was told by being awake well into the night, she delighted in her newfound plotting. Where this would lead, Moira was unsure, but found herself smiling as she let her imagination run away with her ideas.

While the alcohol surely fuelled her plan making, it also helped along a more pressing matter, which was Moira’s complete and utter desire to find Angela and pursue a more immediate and physical satisfaction. Of course, it would be inappropriate to do so, but how to cope with this feeling? A throb between her legs suggested one simple solution, if only for the short term. She squeezed her thighs together and tried to disregard that particular train of thought, pushing it down while she mulled things over.

Without some avenue of release, though, Moira knew her body language would be read easily from afar. She had some easy tells; rubbing her face and neck, fiddling with the knot of her tie and busying her hands with whatever she could find. At her worst, she might lose her cool front and mumble and fluster over her words alike what she was scolded for as a child. No, it simply wouldn’t do to appear so rattled. Her plan required composure. Under the scrutiny of others, she, at all times, preferred to exude both an air of confidence and detachment. With the reality of her desires sinking in now, she realised felt neither by her own admission.

At least in this moment she found some relief in her solitude. She exhaled sharply through her nose and stared at her empty glass, flexing her fingers on her other hand as she processed her thoughts. Her eyebrows knitted together, a direct result of her concern. When had things become so emotionally exhausting? What realistic solution could she possibly find? Her previous elation faltered as she struggled to patch together her ideas in a way that wouldn’t negatively impact at least one aspect of their already complicated working conditions. It was troublesome indeed.

She returned to the window to fetch the whiskey bottle, then swung back around and sank into the armchair. Forearms against her thighs, she leaned forward to set the bottle and glass on the coffee table, then ran her hands through her now disheveled hair.

The memory of Angela’s bare thighs suddenly disrupted Moira’s logical thought. She let out a lustful hum without meaning to and after, laughed nervously at herself, feeling incredibly glad to be alone. The ache between her legs resurfaced. It burned hotly, spreading a heat through her body that served only to hasten her heartbeat and as she went to hold her face in her hands, her flushed cheeks seared her palms. She smiled toward the floor almost sadly, aware of how chaotic she had become.

Moira was no stranger to attraction, to lust nor to the physical situations which tended to arise as a consequence of both. Her sexual desire existed as a hungry creature in the pit of her stomach, and it had once been easy to soothe whenever she was content to focus on her work and thus had been easy for most of her life. There were of course times she allowed its freedom, though. This carnal tension Angela had been stirring up within her was looking likely to become one. Beneath the surface of her, murmurs became a roar, became molten desire bubbling like magma and demanding release. Moira knew well that while her scientific endeavors were always rewarding, studying women's pleasure first hand brought satisfaction in its own delectable way.

Truth be told there had been quite a number of women between her sheets over the years, though she noted it a pity she couldn’t remember each of their names. While there were some interactions in life she found challenging, talking circles around her lovers had been no such thing. She could seduce them with a smile, with a confident touch and draw them in close with her words. It was often enough just to blind them with science and they would bend to her will, falling into bed with her enthusiasm and charm.

She had deduced that her somewhat harsh demeanor was a gift, at times. Whether it made her seem mysterious or just disinterested, women begged for her attention and chased it like a high. Moira was a dab hand at making them want more, if only by seeming unobtainable and cold, to begin with. Every so often she wondered exactly what drew them to her, like flies to the spider’s web, caught and snared by her talented tongue that, in the end, always did a whole lot more than just beguile them with words.

Moira couldn’t help but smirk at that thought. It became a grin, thoroughly aided by the copious amount of alcohol now coursing through her system. Looking up enough to glance at the door, Moira tried to remember whether she had locked it. Not that she expected company this late, or at all in honesty, but she was sure enough to purr a laugh to herself and sit back, pulling her tie completely loose and sinking lower into the chair.

Comfortably drunk and uninhibited, one hand found the whiskey bottle and brought it to her lips, glass all but forgotten, and the other danced with her belt and slipped beneath her boxer shorts. Her fingers trailed down through her neat patch of copper curls while she drank and then dipped lower as she set down the bottle. The sensation made her hiss and then hum deeply. It was not really her style to masturbate so crudely and so openly as this but she ached strongly, this was inimitable. This was _Angela_.

Angela Ziegler was not the first pretty young thing to provoke Moira’s hunger. She was, however, in a category all of her own. Flawless and refined, a beauty to behold like no other. Cliché as it sounded, Angela was different to the women she would usually pursue. Rather, while Moira usually found herself pursued by those she charmed, she felt the tables were turned with Angela. Moira wanted her attention. When she pushed and teased, Angela resisted and oh, how it made her crave it infinitely more so. She wanted to hunt her, a white rabbit, and she herself would play the cunning red fox.

To have anything of a nature beyond professional with Angela in this moment would be ill-advised, yes. But Moira let her hand move and ignored the complications that held the two of them apart. She let her mind wander as freely as her fingers did. Moira loved to find pleasure in reddening cheeks and gripped sheets, arched backs, and tightly shut eyes. She recalled the many breathless moans she had caused, and so she thought of those things and she thought of Angela, and she tried not to notice how wet she was already.

As Moira touched herself, she took pleasure in each new way she imagined Angela finding her way into her bedroom. Each new potential path to pursue, each a new equation which led to the same indulgent conclusion. She revelled in it. She traced a fingertip lazily over the hood of her clitoris and her breath hitched.

Oh, Angela had her in a _state_. One too many whiskeys and she was masturbating openly in her living room armchair and it would be an outright lie to claim this was the first time. She would let it run its course. No one had ever caused a reaction in her such as this. Her core was on fire, the heat of longing burning deep inside, begging.

It was unusual, really, this. Even in this condition Moira couldn’t help but be analytical. She tended to take control, but she couldn’t help but feel she would let Angela do whatever she pleased if she were only here. So much for regaining the upper hand. She wanted her unbearably and the need burned low in her belly.

Moira hasten her pace, rubbing feverishly. She turned her head to the side, hiding her face in her lab coat as she panted. The proximity spurred a memory to flash forward. Something in her pocket she had picked up from the desk from the break room earlier today. Something of incredible interest to this situation, and what a fool she was to have forgotten.

She twisted around almost violently to grab a hold of her slumped lab coat and shoved her free hand into the inside pocket, searching with a renewed energy. She rode against her other hand, voice cracking through a hushed groan as she buried her face into a small piece of fabric. Her flushed cheeks brought out a smattering of freckles, painting her pale face like constellations.

She slipped the hair tie over her wrist and breathed deeply, filling her lungs and her mind with the intoxicating scent of Angela, her _Aingel_ , like it was her oxygen. As Moira drew closer to her climax, her breathing quickened and she was all too aware that each time she huffed her increasingly ragged breaths into the material she would lose that perfect smell and leave it laced with whiskey and lust. It was such a prize to have found and she knew she would ruin it, but it was far too late. Were she in a more logical state, she might have waxed philosophical about herself, ruining such a pure creature as Angela.

She slouched further into the armchair as her mind flooded with lascivious thoughts. Angela bundled against her, her beautiful golden hair falling loose and wild, mewling weakly into the crook of Moira’s neck as she came undone, twitching sweetly around her fingers. Moira was close. The thought took her to the edge and she leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, pupils blown as she whispered expletives and Angela’s name in quick succession.

The sensations of her thoughts felt almost real. She envisioned Angela pulling her roughly forward, fingers raking through her red hair, burying her face into pretty pink folds. With a raw moan, Moira inhaled deeply again, the smell of Angela’s hair playing on her mind and she found herself smiling, wondering, if the hair between her legs smelled as enticing, if she had any at all, how she would love to find out. With that in her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut and let the intensity wash over her and she came, gasping and grunting as her body shuddered. Her imagination ran free within her climax and in it, Angela would demand what she wanted, hold her hand against her throat roughly and mock her, or tease her with a kitten heel pressed painfully, pleasurably, into Moira’s shoulder.

Her orgasm shook her to her core and she curled up, breath held, trying to be silent. In the moments that followed, she felt pangs of concern. Moira clutched the hair tie to her chest for a short time and thought about stuffing it back into her lab coat pocket but chose instead to slide it back over her wrist, pushing herself to ignore both how indecent she felt and the thought of what it might feel like to hold Angela in an afterglow. She knew though, that if such a thing was possible, Angela would look even more beautiful. Her half hearted attempts to convince herself this was nothing more than pure carnality had faltered, and she pushed herself to ignore that, too.

Standing to smooth her clothes down and then finding It pointless, Moira headed into her bedroom and undressed, mostly, and slid beneath the sheets. She felt all at once euphoric, ashamed and exhausted. Undeniably, she also felt something like pining. Moira lay her hand in front of her face and remembered how Angela had looked that morning in the breakroom, laughing at the antics of that perky British woman she seemed to like so much. She had been wearing the hair tie she could see now, and as always, looked radiant.

Moira closed her eyes and could still smell the lingering scent of her. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to hold her and kiss her like the sun kissed her skin and push her fingers through her gorgeous golden hair, tie it for her and earn _that look_ that she gave when she smiled so genuinely.

Instead, Moira chewed her thumbnail with frustration. She tossed and turned for a while, hoping she wouldn’t dream, and eventually fell into a broken, restless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> While I crammed in a good number of voice lines into this, only one requires translation! Gan mhaith - meaning 'shit' or 'no good'. Hopefully it makes decent sense in this context.
> 
> Do let me know if you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much for reading!


End file.
